He's My Husband! - Lindsay Armstrong [47]
‘Don’t I know it,’ Brett replied, and if there was a faint undercurrent in his voice only Nicola seemed to notice it.
‘Never mind, darling, I’ll behave myself from now on,’ she said to him, and patted his lapel.
‘You must admit,’ he said sotto voce, as they started on their entrée, ‘that this mood is a little different from the one you left home in.’
‘I’m probably being childish—well, girlish.’ She smiled at him. ‘Or just plain naughty?’ she added as an afterthought.
‘Determined to fling all my sins in my face?’ he said dryly.
‘You were the one who insisted I come. But before this degenerates into a slanging match,’ she responded swiftly, ‘and undoes all the good I’ve done—although I have no real idea why I had to do it—you should have the next dance with Tara.’
‘Oh—why?’
‘Because—’ she eyed him impishly ‘—I intend to dance with everyone at the table while I’ve got this music in my soul. In fact, in lieu of being able to work anything out, and because the only other thing I can think of doing is going to Tibet to get away from it all...’ she looked rueful ‘...I don’t see why I shouldn’t enjoy myself!’
It started as a look of surprise in his eyes, then became an unwilling salute, and finally he laughed softly. ‘Point taken. There are times when you’re unique, you know.’
She looked away, and to her horror heard herself say, ‘Not unique enough for you, though.’
‘Nicola—’
‘Don’t Sorry, I didn’t mean that—uh—it must be the champagne. Oh, look who’s here. Richard. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be very discreet—and I certainly won’t dance the samba with him.’
He gazed down at her steadily, but the expression in his eyes suddenly struck her as being bleak, even filled with pain for a moment, before he looked away.
It was as if a hand had squeezed her heart. She didn’t know what would cause him to look like that, but she was pretty sure she could guess—it had to be Marietta and the new man in her life.
And here I am, playing the fool, adding to his problems... She closed her eyes briefly and said, barely audibly, ‘Brett?’
He looked down at her again, searchingly.
‘Sony—that’s all. I am being girlish. I’ll—don’t worry about me this evening. I’ll be... I won’t cause any problems.’
What he would have said she never knew, because, with a drumroll, the leader of the band announced that the speeches were due to begin and invited Brett to take the rostrum.
Throughout his speech, even though the lights were dimmed, Nicola, without turning her head, could see Tara’s rapt expression and the unconscious, sheer admiration the other woman couldn’t hide. For her own part, she found she couldn’t concentrate on what Brett was saying, because running through her mind were all the Bretts she knew—not just this polished man of the world, who spoke with a mixture of authority and humour.
Brett with the children. Brett on the beach. Brett with her, before she’d destroyed the balance of their relationship. Brett hurting because, as she’d always known, he could never forget Marietta—even though he might tell himself it had all burnt out.
Is that why Tara has ceased to get to me? she wondered. How can I get him to understand that Marietta, without knowing it, might just have taken the Reverend Callam’s advice? I’m sure it’s got to be that! What if I go and see her...?
She realised suddenly that his speech had ended and he was coming back to the table—and she was the only one not applauding enthusiastically.
She started to clap belatedly, then he was beside her, sitting down, looking wry.
Tara immediately leant over to congratulate him. ‘Well said, Brett! I particularly liked the bit about...’
Nicola grimaced inwardly and switched off—in a manner of speaking. In fact, so much so, he had to touch her arm to bring her back.
‘Oh. Sorry,’ she murmured.
‘You looked as if you were a million miles away.’
‘No...’
‘Would you like to go?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Wouldn’t that...? No, I’m fine. Why?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘I’m not enjoying myself much either.’
She studied him, then slipped her hand over